


Mundane

by Wintermoth



Series: Tales From Camp Dragonhead [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Flirting, I cannot beLIEVE I did this, In which Haurchy learns more than he expected to today, and of course the chocobos~, cute shit found within, fact: can be read without any knowledge of the game, it's time for some ADVENTURING, minor spoilers for ARR - pre Ul'Dah, whaddup guys I'm like 3 years late to the party but ready to groove anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 07:31:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13336401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintermoth/pseuds/Wintermoth
Summary: Her lips quirked in amusement and she folded her arms. He allowed her a moment or two to consider him and his proposal before grinning once more. “Lord Haurchefant,” she said slowly, “I do believe you are trying to use me as an excuse to get out of work for the day.”





	Mundane

**Author's Note:**

> ...You ever get those ideas...that you know you _probably should let die in your brain_ but you start writing them anyway? You ever have those friends you expect to **stop you** from doing certain things and then they don't? 
> 
> Yeah, well, I do. And here we are. But it's cute as hell so I hope you enjoy anyway :'D WoL left vague so y'all can insert your own. (Except popotos. This is definitely not a popoto.)

Early mornings in Coerthas were as frigid as the nights. Like any mountainous region, the land depended on the warmth of the sun to heat itself. So, barring extreme circumstances, life in Camp Dragonhead depended on the location of the sun. Until it peaked over the distant horizon and graced the frozen lands with its blessed warmth, no one with any say in the matter would step outside even if you paid them. So, while one might find other military outposts beginning their days at the crack of dawn, most of the camp yet remained in their in beds.

Of course, the camp was not completely devoid of life. The cooks were already toiling in the kitchen to prepare a hearty breakfast which would lure the soldiers from the warmth of their bunks and into the dining hall. The chirurgeon on night duty quietly moved from bed to bed, quietly observing the rise and fall of each patient’s chest, content in the knowledge that they would live to see another dawn. And those unfortunate souls on night watch were counting the minutes until they were relieved of their posts.

When the Warrior of Light arrived with her chocobo in a flash of light beside the aetheryte, there was no one around to witness her arrival save for the lone guard posted nearby. His eyes flicked to her in surprise, quickly travelling up and down her form to determine who she was. She was dressed differently than usual but there was no mistaking her identity. Who else was crazy enough to show up at such an _unholy_ hour?

So engrossed was she in the parchment in her hands that the guard did not bother to greet her but instead made a mental note to himself to inform Lord Haurchefant at breakfast. It was no secret that their commander had taken a shine to her from the first and he would no doubt be cross if he discovered she had been here and no one had bothered to tell him.

The Warrior of Light lowered the parchment and gave the area a cursory glance before walking to the north edge of the platform. She rolled up the parchment, tucked it in her belt, then planted her hands on the parapet and vaulted over it without a word. Her bird followed with a gleeful cry and disappeared. The guard’s eyes bulged and he raced over to the parapet to look over the side. The young woman and her companion were already halfway to the gate, no worse for the wear, and the guard shook his head.

Bloody adventurers.

* * *

 

By the time the Warrior returned to Camp Dragonhead, the sun had finally peaked over the mountains and the morning activities were in full swing. Breakfast was over and knights headed for their duties, be it training, patrol, watch, or one of the other responsibilities assigned to those stationed here. Among the crowd trickling out from the dining hall was a certain silver-haired lord.

Haurchefant had been made aware of the Warrior’s arrival at breakfast and was pleased to hear she was nearby. Indeed, he hoped he’d have a chance to see her today, though there was always a risk that she would simply teleport away once her business had concluded as adventurers were wont to do. She hadn’t announced her presence this morning so like as not she wasn’t here on any official business.

It was quite fortunate, then, that a spot of color near the north gate caught his eye as he made his way to the great hall. The chocobo’s unusually colored plumage gleamed in the morning light and Haurchefant was smiling before he even saw the Warrior herself astride the bird, for who else would be so bold as to pass through the gates without pause…and allow their chocobo’s feathers to become such an interesting shade.

She held the reins in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other, which she studied intently, trusting her chocobo to not run into anything on its own. Her return could only mean she had more business to conduct nearby.

“Good morning, my friend!” he called.

She raised her head at once, eyes scanning the clearing, and when they found him, her entire face lit up. She pulled on the reins lightly and her chocobo came to a halt, warbling quietly while she dismounted. Haurchefant approached her with a broad grin on his face.

“Yours is ever a welcome face here. When I was informed of your arrival early this morning, I had hoped you would return. I should very much like a chance to bid you hello whenever you pass through.”

She smiled and rolled the parchment in her hands carefully, tucking it into her belt. “I thought it better to not announce myself this morning given the early hour,” she replied in that strange, lilting accent of hers that he wasn’t worldly enough to place. He smiled nonetheless for hearing her voice was nothing short of a privilege as she preferred to keep quiet unless necessary.

“What were you even doing out at such an hour, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She pursed her lips and hesitated before answering. He wondered what on Hydaelyn she could’ve been doing out there that would bring her pause. “I was…collecting something rare,” she finally replied.

Haurchefant folded his arms thoughtfully. What could be rare and valuable enough for such an early jaunt in the coldest reaches of Eorzea? He asked her thus and she licked her lips, seeming to wrestle with herself for a moment, during which time his mind wandered beyond the North gate to the region beyond. Not much dwelled there except lower members of the horde, beastkin, and the infestation of voidsent in the caverns. Could she have been after something guarded by the voidsent? Aevis scales? Or perhaps something kept by the Ixali in Natalan?

She turned to her chocobo and gestured to the small stack of logs tied behind the saddle and his wondrous musings were cut short. It was then that he realized she was missing her usual weapons but instead carried a hatchet upon her back. Haurchefant looked from the tool to the wood and cocked his head once more as understanding dawned.

“Is that wood?”

She nodded.

“Y-you were gathering wood?” he repeated, surprised. Something in her expression shifted and he immediately backpedaled. “Pray, forgive my incredulity, I simply was expecting something less…mundane.”

The corner of her lip twitched upwards. “Did you know that spruce wood should only be harvested during the early morning hours? At night, the wood is too frozen to work with and anything you manage to harvest will be spoiled. During the day, one runs the risk of getting covered in sap and I’ve been told that the value of the wood is not even close to worth the trouble.”

Haurchefant blinked. No, suffice to say he had not been aware of that. “Oh,” was all he managed before composing himself once more.

“And did you know that the only place in Eorzea that spruce trees can be found consistently is right here in Coerthas?”

He nodded. “That I did know, but mayhap you will enlighten me as to why you were after spruce to begin with?”

“A carpenter in Mor Dhona has need of some,” she said simply. Ah, so that was the way of it. She was simply doing what adventurers did best…a welcome change after the circumstances which had brought her to Coerthas in the past.

“I see. Then I assume you have other business here in Coerthas today since you did not simply teleport back to Revenant’s Toll?” He smirked. “Or were you trying to save the coin for such a relatively short trip? Between you and me, I should think no price is too steep if it saves one the journey through the snows.”

She smiled and shook her head. “I have other things as well.” She patted the piece of parchment at her hip. “Reckon I’ll be spending most of the day out here.”

Haurchefant looked her up and down with concern. She wore a red tunic with loose sleeves that extended to her forearms, matching trousers, and a tan leather vest, held together by what appeared to be _teeth_. Her knee length boots at least would protect her feet from the snows and her gloves covered her hands in their entirety, which was not always the case with her. But she wore no scarf or hat and he was quite certain the sleeves on that tunic would do little to ward off the chill for long. “My friend, I fear you are ill-dressed to be spending hours out in the cold.”

She smiled. “I brought a coat. Don’t worry about me.”

“Still, even my knights are given plenty of opportunity to warm themselves by the fire lest they freeze. That you should be out in the wilderness alone for hours on end does not sit well with me.” He told her plainly and her expression hardened. He wondered if she believed he intended to stop her. Far from it, actually. “So, perhaps you might allow me to accompany you.”

He grinned but her frown only deepened, wariness replaced by concern. Her head turned in the direction of the main hall where he often spent his days at his desk, pouring over piles of paperwork not unlike the ones that certainly awaited him today. But she didn’t need to know that!

“You are concerned that I have other duties?” he guessed. “Pray, do not let it trouble you. My officers are more than capable of managing things for one day. The heretics have been unusually silent recently—which we attribute to you putting Lady Iceheart in her place for the second time in a row, by the way.” Ah, there was her smile once more, this time somewhere between embarrassment and pride. “And we’ve received no concerning reports from the Observatory. Honestly, the timing could not be more perfect. You will be able to collect the items on your list without fear of being caught unawares, I do not have to spend the rest of the day worrying that you froze to death, and we get to enjoy each other’s company away from prying ears and without interruptions from a certain young elezen.”

Her lips quirked in amusement and she folded her arms. He allowed her a moment or two to consider him and his proposal before grinning once more. “Lord Haurchefant,” she said slowly, “I do believe you are trying to use me as an excuse to get out of work for the day.”

“Me? Nay, rather, I think I shall be in for far more strenuous work if I accompany you…but I am willing to brave such a task! All that awaits me here is another day at my desk,” he added.

The Warrior of Light shook her head slowly and Haurchefant knew from the grin on her face that he had her. “I think my chocobo might be a bit too small to carry us both.”

“That’s quite alright. I have my own trusty companion who would probably enjoy a day of activity as well. They can keep each other company.”

She shook her head again and laughed quietly. “It’s not going to be glamorous,” she warned him. “Or daring or romantic or any other notions you have about adventuring dancing about in that peculiar head of yours.”

“You find my head to be peculiar?”

“As a moogle’s pom,” she deadpanned.

“Well, daring or not, I should think a day with you will prove most interesting,” he stated matter-of-factly, earning him a sigh.

“Alright.” She jabbed a finger at his chest. “But if you’re going to come then you’re going to help, too.”

Grinning broadly, Haurchefant lifted his hand to his heart. “You have my word.”

“I’ll be waiting to the west when you’re ready to depart,” she informed him and mounted her chocobo, who trilled excitedly and flapped its wings when she was seated.

“Someone’s ready to go right this instant,” he noted. “I shall be quick, then.”

It took him about a quarter bell to get things in order. Haurchefant appreciated Corentiaux’s attempts to not smile while he explained where he was going. The knight would handle what paperwork he could, set aside what he could not, and was given instructions to inform any who came to call on Haurchefant that he was providing escort for a guest of House Fortemps for the day. He asked the cook to put together a lunch for them and had the stable hand ready his chocobo with a riding saddle and bags for supplies. Foleux was not normally reduced to the role of a chocobo of burden but as a war steed, he certainly would be able to bear the load of whatever the Warrior asked him to carry. Once he was certain his chocobo would be suitably prepared, he went to fetch his coat from his quarters and a pair of shoes more suited to traipsing around the countryside.

When he was finally ready to depart, he mounted Foleux and headed West. Unlike the North and South, the West had no small gate through which to enter and instead had a shorter wall that did not quite reach the South wall and left a wide-open space, intended to allow Ishgardian forces come and go as they please. At first, Haurchefant had believed this to be a design flaw, but his father had made an excellent point: if enemies were coming from that direction then they likely had more serious concerns than Camp Dragonhead being invaded.

Of course, the architects had been focused on defenses against humanoid foes, possibly dravanian ones, and likely had not taken Goobues into consideration when making that call. Oh well. At least it kept things interesting.

Foleux trotted along casually and Haurchefant kept his head on a swivel as he searched for the Warrior. She had made no mention of any specific location before, only that she would be to the West. He couldn’t imagine she’d gone very far though. He had no sooner thought this than his eyes caught a flash of color near a tree several yalms off the path.

The Warrior’s chocobo stood alone, casually grooming the feathers beneath its lifted wing. He raised his head at Haurchefant’s approach and let out a loud _kweh!_ Foleux answered the call. Chuckling, Haurchefant dismounted and lead Foleux by the reins over to the Warrior’s chocobo, whose name escaped him now that he thought about it. He’d have to ask.

The chocobos sniffed each other and chirped softly, then the Warrior’s chocobo lightly prodded Foleux’s hat with his beak. Foleux tossed his head and gave himself a shake, rufflings his feathers. Satisfied that they were going to get along, Haurchefan’t gently stroked the chocobo’s neck. “Where’s your master gone?” he asked.

As if in answer to his question, Haurchefant heard something small drop to the snow somewhere behind him. He turned around but saw no one. A few moments passed and then something red from the sky and landed in the snow with a similar sound to that from before. Then came another.

Was that an apple?

He looked up and blinked in surprise. Was that—? Why, it was.

The Warrior of Light herself laying along a branch of a tree, reaching for an apple hanging precariously far from the branch. As he watched, her fingers closed around the apple and she appeared to inspect it briefly before plucking it from the branch and letting it drop to the ground. It landed with a soft _thud_ in the snow and she moved on to another branch.

He looked at the ground around him and realized that there were dozens of such indents in the snows surrounding the trees. By the Fury, she must have been up in the trees this whole time!

“Apples?” he called to her with an amused smile. The Warrior looked at him and grinned toothily. “Why are you picking apples?”

She leaped from the tree and landed in the snow before him, sending up a small flurry. He raised his hand to shield his face and she straightened up, no worse from the wear even after such a landing, and brushed the snow from her clothes. “Because there’s apples to be picked, my lord,” she replied with a lighthearted smile.

“A fair answer, I suppose. Are they on your list or did you simply seek to pass the time?”

“Apparently the Bismarck released a new dish made with Mirror Apples and it’s so popular that their usual suppliers can’t keep up,” she explained. “I’ve been promised a serving as part of my payment.”

“The…Bismarck?” repeated Haurchefant unsurely. He’d heard the name before, certainly, but only in relation to the beast tribe that dwelled near their outpost in the Sea of Clouds, and he doubted very much that they were thinking of the same thing.

He could tell that his ignorance caught her off guard. “O-oh, right. The Bismarck is a famous restaurant in Limsa Lominsa,” she explained. “It’s also the home of the Culinarian’s guild. You’ve not heard of it?”

“I do believe there are a great many things within the realm I’ve not heard of. When an entire nation tends to shun outsiders, details of life beyond the borders don’t often make their way to its peoples’ ears,” he explained. There was pity on her face then, and remorse, and Haurchefant shook his head. “Don’t fret. This is not the first time an Adventurer has taught me about the rest of the world, nor will it be the last.”

The Warrior nodded and then looked around at the numerous holes in the snow. “I think I almost have enough. Would you mind collecting them while I knock a few more down?”

Haurchefant smiled and dipped into a flourishing bow. “As you wish.”

She rolled her eyes and made for the tree she had jumped from before. “Just grab one of the empty bags from Bobby’s saddle.”

He blinked in surprise. “Bobby?” he repeated incredulously.

“Bobby Corwen if you’re feeling formal,” she called over her shoulder as she leaped into the tree. He watched her go with wide eyes and wondered if she’d been trained in the ways of the Dragoons without him knowing. Then he looked at the odd-colored chocobo…Bobby Corwen…who was watching him expectantly.

Haurchefant quickly pushed his questions aside and went to fetch a bag as ordered, noting the number of empty sacks hanging from the saddle. If she intended to fill all of these then they were certainly in for a long day of foraging. Well, she had warned him it wouldn’t be glamorous, hadn’t she? He couldn’t help but smile as he set to work collecting apples from the thick snow that had served to cushion their fall. The sack grew heavy ere long and he was forced to retrieve yet another to continue collecting. Every so often he heard more apples fall to the ground nearby.

A particularly loud thud followed a brief period of silence, announcing the Warrior’s descent from on high, and she helped him collect the last few apples from the ground.

“I counted precisely fifty-five,” he informed her, nodding to the two in her hands. “Those make fifty-seven.”

She grinned and towards the chocobos with the apples still in hand. Realizing what she intended, he carefully tied the bag off and followed her. She handed an apple to Bobby Corwen, who gobbled it up at once, but when she turned to Foleux, she paused. He understood her surprise, it was not often that outsiders got to see an Ishgardian black chocobo up close. Unlike their yellow counterparts, they were not sold to the rest of Eorzea, kept exclusively for high ranking members of the military, Holy See, and nobility. Someone such as herself had probably never been in the presence of one.

Or it could’ve been the sheer size of the bird since he had been bred to carry a full-grown elezen.

“His name is Foleux,” Haurchefant said. “And he was born this color, unlike…” he glanced at her chocobo, who almost looked offended at his statement.

She, on the other hand, seemed impressed. She pulled her hand free of its glove with her teeth and extended it towards his face. Foleux ducked his head and gave her fingers a cursory sniff…then promptly turned his attention to the apple in her other hand. She happily surrendered it and put her glove back on, then she turned to Haurchefant and held out her hands for the bag. She inspected the knot at the top before fastening it securely to Bobby’s saddle.

“Fifty-five apples for the Bismarck: complete,” he declared. “Though out of curiosity, how many of those dishes do you think this will make?”

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, I imagine each requires one or two apples…and they may find fault with some of the apples…so, perhaps between thirty or fifty.”

He frowned. They would need more than that to feed the residents of Camp Dragonhead for one meal. She must simply be supplementing their supplier’s contributions rather than taking their place. “Well, after you make your delivery, mayhap you can bring me a dish as well. I shall even supply the coin!”

The Warrior chuckled, plucked the parchment from her belt once more, and unrolled it. She pulled a small writing utensil that he could not name from a pouch on her waist and drew a careful black line through one of the items on her list. Haurchefant peered over her shoulder curiously. Her list was…confusing at best. Though she appeared to have categorized her tasks into two sections, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what they were. He recognized words written with the Eorzean alphabet here and there, but a majority of her tasks had been penned with characters he did not recognize.

“What language is that?” he queried. The Warrior quirked her brow at him and smiled. A thought occurred to him then and before she could respond, he went on, “Is this your native tongue?”

The Warrior of Light laughed openly at him and shook her head. “Your language is spoken across Hydaelyn, more than any other by far, so do you not think it feasible that other cultures and peoples would have different ways of writing it? Ways more akin to those of their regional languages?”

For once, Haurchefant was the one staring at her in silence.

“Here.” She held up the parchment and pointed to the line beneath the one she had just crossed out, the words a series of squiggled lines and sharp edges that he could not make out. “This is ‘mistletoe’.”

“So, am I to understand that this is exactly the same language but written with different letters?” She nodded and Haurchefant was amazed. He’d had no idea such a thing was possible. How did people send letters, missives, decrees, or anything of the sort when their recipient may not even understand what their eyes were seeing even though their ears would? But then, who was he to question a system so far removed from his own? He was certain the ways of Ishgardians must confuse her quite often but she never complained. “Then what are these symbols here?” He pointed to the squiggles at the end of the line.

“Numbers,” she explained. “About how many I need. But we shouldn’t try to collect this until later in the day.”

He nodded. “So, what are we after in the meantime?”

She hummed thoughtfully, tapping her chin and scanning her list. “Hippogriff Sinew,” she finally decided.

“And here I thought we would be after plants all day!” he crowed, pleased at the opportunity to fight alongside her again, even if only against simple beasts. “Packs of them can be found not far from here.” He pointed in the direction of Whitebrim. “By your leave, my friend.”

They mounted their chocobos once again and set off with Haurchefant slightly in the lead.

* * *

 

Haurchefant quickly realized that she must have planned her day in advance because they were making a rather large circle around the Nail as they collected the items from her list. Sinew from Hippocerfs, the tender meat from Mudpuppy tails, fangs from wolves, and to his horror, vampire weed. With each task came an explanation of who needed these materials and what were they for. Each purpose was as mundane as the last but he could not help but be fascinated, both by the glimpses into life beyond Coerthas—he would never have guessed that vampire weed was a key ingredient in potent potions—and by the fact that she was talking.

Before today, he could count on his hands how many times she had contributed vocally to their conversations. Usually she preferred a silent response or allowed others to do the talking, as was the case during the diplomatic meetings with Ser Aymeric. He had accepted it as simply her way and had yet to grow bold enough to ask her why.

Yet here she was, speaking freely as if it were what she’d always done. Could it be that this was normal for her and he was only now seeing this side of her because this was the first time they had ever been truly alone together? Or was this something special? He would like to believe the latter but sensibility told him he ought to know better. Perhaps she was simply eager to expand his horizons.

The work was more strenuous than anticipated but despite her warning that it would be neither daring nor glamorous, he enjoyed every minute of it. Well, nearly every minute. He had no experience with such a precise task and was forced to hold parcels open for her while she efficiently collected the sinew from the Hippocerf carcasses. He was no stranger to blood, battle, or hunting by any measure and he had seen his fair share of gore…yet he disliked watching her do it. He attempted to distract himself by asking her exactly sinew was used for but she had simply shaken her head and focused on the task, only answering him after she was done and they were tying off the parcels.

Haurchefant noticed as well that, apart from the restaurant in Limsa Lominsa, all of her clients were located in nearby Revenant’s Toll. Being relevant to Ishgardian interests, knowledge of the outpost flowed freely across their borders and though he himself had never visited it, Haurchefant was well aware of its nature, purpose, and chief residents: adventurers. The whole bloody outpost was populated by them and a decent share must have turned up on his doorstep by now looking for work, those who had survived the “hospitality” of the encampments between the outpost and Camp Dragonhead, at any rate. Why could they simply not do these tasks themselves? Why spend the coin to send another adventurer off to do their work?

These thoughts ran circles around his head as the hours passed and by the time they had stopped for lunch on the banks of the river, he could resist no longer and finally voiced his thoughts. After all, who in their right mind would ask _the Warrior of Light_ to do even half of these things? The Warrior, who had been unhooking the bedroll from Bobby Corwen’s saddle, laughed so hard that the chocobos warbled in concern and Haurchefnat wondered what exactly he’d said that was so funny.

“Lest you forget, Lord Haurchefant, I am an adventurer first and foremost,” she said through her chortling. Taking a deep breath, she exhaled slowly through her mouth and the last of her laughter died away. Now calm, she turned to him with a strange little smile on her face. “I am only the Warrior of Light because others decreed it. I am an adventurer because it’s what I chose, it’s what I do.”

“You have not answered my question,” he pointed out.

At this, the Warrior cracked a grin, once more returning to the task of retrieving the bedroll. “Let me ask you one instead: why are you the commander of Dragonhead?”

If anyone else in the realm would have asked him this question, Haurchefant would have considered it to be a reference to his status and been insulted. Though no one had ever said such words to his face, he knew they had been spoken behind his back by high and lowborn alike. It was not, after all, common practice to bequeath such a station to a bastard. But she was not like the people of his nation and he doubted she even _knew_ the situation of his birth. That realization was more refreshing than he’d anticipated.

So, he smiled. “Camp Dragonhead has been owned by House Fortemps since the days of Thordan II and has always been always under the command of a son or daughter of House Fortemps, excepting periods of time when a new heir to command had not yet reached a suitable age.”

As he spoke, she rifled through one of Bobby Corwen’s saddlebags with the bedroll tucked under one arm, and pulled out a small bundle and a flask. “I find it difficult to believe that Ishgard would allow its military forts to be commanded simply based on lineage,” she remarked as she closed the bag.

“Then, pray, allow me to finish.”

She turned and shook her head. “Forgive me.”

He cleared his throat pointedly and she quirked her lips. “You are correct in your assumption: birth alone is not enough to assume command. One must have suitable experience in combat and strategy…along with management skills and superb penmanship,” he added, eliciting a small chuckle from her. “Moreover, I have not held my command more than few summers and in the time between that day and attaining my knighthood, I had proven myself in the field countless times and apprenticed under my late uncle, who held command before me.”

The Warrior of Light held the bundle in her teeth and tucked the flask into her belt while she unfurled her bedroll and spread it out on the ground a few yalms away from the riverbank. She plopped down onto it and he followed suit, albeit with much more care. He would hate to damage something she probably relied on.

She dropped the bundle into her lap and began untying it. “So, you had to earn your position and respect, correct?”

 _More than you know, my friend._ “Correct.”

He took note of the meager lunch she had packed for herself—half a loaf of bread, a block of white cheese, and a few pieces of dried meat—and was glad that he had had enough prepared for both of them.

“Then we are the same. I, like many an adventurer, came to Mor Dhona with a title or two that I had earned for my deeds, titles which would have guaranteed me respect anywhere else. But in Revenant’s Toll, all who arrive do so as equals, for we are all of us members of the adventurer’s guild, in a place not of our birth, making it our own. Respect and power must be earned through hard work and longevity. Simply put: to be someone, you must first prove that you are worthy to be. To live in the Toll, you must pay the toll.”

Such a policy made sense, he supposed. “But is not the Scion’s base there? Does that not give you a place?”

“It gives me a place insofar as being a Scion goes,” she corrected, “but as a resident of the Toll, it does little for me. It’s like that anywhere I go, though. Don’t you recall when I arrived in Camp Dragonhead? You and your fellow knights did not instantly accept me, not truly. I earned your respect through my deeds.”

“So, you did,” he agreed. “Then that is what this is? Proving yourself?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I’ve done all that and some.” She waved her hand dismissively. “No, this is ‘cos somehow, word got around the Toll that I had earned the favor of members of the High Houses in Coerthas, thus giving me nearly unfettered access to this whole region. And since everyone knows I’m hardworking and reliable, I’ve become sort of the go-to girl for anything needed in Coerthas.”

Haurchefant looked at the satchels and sacks loaded onto her chocobo’s saddle and laughed. “Who better to send than one who receives a smile at the gates rather than a spear at the face? I daresay you must be quite busy.” She shrugged. “Well, you certainly have a corner of the market all to yourself! Does this mean we are to see more of you in the coming days?”

“I suppose, yes…”

“Splendid!” he cried. “I insist you come and visit me whenever you’re in the area. As I’ve said before, a warm hearth and a warmer welcome will always be waiting for you, and a warm bed should you require it.”

“Aye but what’ll it warmed _by_?” she muttered and lifted one of the dried meat strips to her mouth.

“That will be entirely up to you, my dear.” He winked and opened his own meal bag.

If given more time, he had no doubt Medguistl would have sent him off with something much heartier, but he silently thanked her for her foresight in packing his meal. Two loaves of knight’s bread, two apples, two slabs of mutton, and a small sack of roasted sweet nuts. Haurchefant caught her eyeing the food almost immediately but she uttered not a word as he unceremoniously began moving half of each portion to her lap. Only after he had deemed their lunches adequately divided did she murmur, “You didn’t have to.”

He smiled. “And yet I did.”

She was quiet for a few moments longer then she broke off half of the cheese from her own meal and set it amongst his lunch. She smiled and he understood.

They ate in companionable silence, listening to the babbling brook, the warbling of their chocobos, and the distant chatter of the local wildlife.

Haurchefant’s eyes kept turning skywards as he ate, a habit shared by many Ishgardians. When outdoors in a group, at any given moment at least one person had their eyes on the sky, watching, waiting. The curse of being born and raised to fear the enemy that came from above. It was such a common mannerism that it wasn’t considered rude to Ishgardians, something he knew had caused problems with foreign visitors in the past who expected a reasonable amount of eye contact in their conversations.

When he glanced at the Warrior, her eyes were always on the world below. The water, the mudpuppies prowling upstream, the chocobos, the nutkin scurrying around on the opposite bank. She had no fear of the heavens. If anything, he thought, the heavens should fear her. He wished he could live as she did.

His eyes flicked to the sky. Empty, clear of clouds, birds, and dragons alike. For now.

He was a proud knight and dutiful to his command, his people. He had pledged his life to serve and gladly would he, yet he could not help but envy her her freedom. To come, to go, to enjoy the sky, to know the world. Would he could, he would join her on her return to Revenant’s Toll, to Limsa Lominsa, and wherever else she may roam. Truly, it would be simple to go, but he knew guilt and duty would compel him to return to his people ere long. T’was his place in life to serve Ishgard and hers to serve the realm.

“Tis a wonder how you can have private thoughts at all,” the Warrior said softly and he realized she’d been watching him. “You have such an expressive face.”

He smiled weakly. “So I’ve been told.” Had she seen the wistfulness in his gaze?

“What troubles you?”

“Naught worth discussing, truly. You need not worry yourself on my account.”

She did not seem convinced and she lifted her gaze to the sky as if it held the answers. He hoped she would never have to see it darken with the members of the horde.

“Come,” he said, “should we not be returning to your mission? Dusk may not be for hours yet but the western mountains are high and we shall lose the light far sooner than you may think.”

To his utter relief, she agreed.

* * *

 

Among the final items on her list was a rather simple one…in theory. In practice, not so much. Several pounds of wool, the higher quality the better, and such a thing could only be procured locally from karakuls. And each and every one of them had a rather ornery disposition. They may look cute and cuddly on the outside and they were usually docile, but all it took was one wrong move and they turned into little vicious _demons_. They had been known to kill themselves from head butting their targets so hard, an experience that Haurchefant had been assured was worse for the survivor.

Were it in his power, he would happily direct her to the flocks of karakuls kept by Ishgardian shepherds that were quite used to being sheared. He was certain some manner of arrangement could be made but it would likely earn strong disapproval from the Holy See.

“Might you consider collecting the wool…elsewhere?” he suggested as they neared Griffin Crossing.

She shook her head. “There is nowhere else, not at this quality without selling half my soul. Why?”

“Because…karakuls…” He grimaced. That was a mistake.

The Warrior’s lips spread into a devilish grin and she narrowed her eyes. “Are you afraid, Ser Greystone?”

“Have you ever battled one of these?”

She stared at him, thoroughly unimpressed.

“More experienced knights than you have been bedridden by those voidsent beasts,” he said gravely.

She quirked her brow. “And more experienced soldiers than I have fallen to primals.”

“Somehow, I doubt those powers of yours will be of any use to you here,” he countered dryly.

“They’re _sheep_ , Haurchefant.”

“Very well, but let it not be said that I did not provide you ample warning.” He sighed. The Warrior of Light was going to die at the hands—er, hooves of a karakul and it’d be all his fault.

Ishgardian soldiers were trained to deal with dragonkind, beasts twice their size or more. They valued strength over agility and wielded primarily swords, lances, and magics. They were capable of felling karakul if given enough time and managed to dodge or bait its head butts, but it was certainly not their forte. But as it happened, agility was exactly what one needed to make short work of a karakul.

Haurchefant spotted a small group of the little black devils standing some distance apart from each other and he and the Warrior dismounted their chocobos. He made no more attempts to talk her out of it and prepared to join her in her suicide mission, but she stopped in. Still dressed in the soft fabrics of her harvesting gear—as if trying to prove a _point_ or something equally ridiculous—she withdrew two daggers and a small stone from one of the pouches. He had seen her utilize a similar stone earlier when slaying the mudpuppies and hyppocerfs but this one had a different shape and hew and her choice of weapon was different, too.

“What manner of combat style is this?” Haurchefant asked curiously.

“It’s a bit of two, really.” She gave her daggers a quick look over. “One from Limsa Lominsa, the other from Doma.”

“Doma?” he repeated in surprise. “That sounds like quite a story, one I think I should like to hear.”

She grinned, winked, and _moved_ and…and… Haurchefant cried out in alarm and he looked around wildly. No footprints, no drag marks, just something like a puff a smoke and she was just _gone_ , she—

A quick, sharp whistle pierced the air and he whipped around. _There_ , in the shadow of a towering pine, she crouched low to the ground with a mischievous smirk on her face. He opened his mouth to call out to her but she pressed a finger to her lips and straightened up. Daggers in hand, she swept her arms up and bent her knees and disappeared once more. Wait, no. She didn’t disappear. He could still see her, sort of, if he squinted and tilted his head just so, but the only real indicators of her location were the tracks in the snow. His jaw dropped but he said nothing. What sort of magic was this?! Such a thing would be invaluable in the war effort.

He tracked her as she crept through the snow towards the nearest karakul, grazing on a small patch of grass it had found. Karakuls were not the most attentive of beasts, perhaps a little too inattentive considering their status as prey animals, but from the way she moved he doubted they would have noticed her approach even if she had been fully visible. She inched around behind the grazing demon and paused for a few moments, as if contemplating her attack.

She came back into view as her blade made contact with the karakul’s back and the beast let out a loud, screeching bleat. She withdrew her blade just in time, back flipping out of the way as the beast rounded on her. She darted around it, flipping and spinning as she delivered strike after strike to the furious creature which futility attempted to kick her.

Not even fifteen seconds passed from her initial strike until it laid dead on the ground.

Leaving the chocobos behind, Haurchefant approached her in amazement. She stood over her kill, positively radiating smugness, then knelt down to clean her blades in the snow.

“Allow me to extend you an offer for an official position at Dragonhead, effective immediately: karakul slayer.”

She giggled— _giggled_ —and stowed her blades. “Not the most formidable title I’ve acquired. However, it’s a little too cold around here for my tastes.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. Though the offer had been mostly in jest, he had not expected her to say yes. One such as her would not be content to confine herself to a place such as his. “Right. Well, the invitation is indefinite so perhaps you’ll reconsider once this dreadful winter finally exhausts itself.”

“As long as you don’t make me pray, I may consider it. Perhaps by then there will be a more permanent solution to primals and I will have to content myself with felling beasts like normal adventurers.”

“At present, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to give my knights lessons in that particular style of fighting?” Haurchefant asked. “I would ensure you received compensation, even if I had to…alter the intent behind the lessons in my report.”

“I could, aye, but I don’t reckon it’d be much use against dragons, what with those thick scales and all.”

“My lady, believe you me, the effectiveness against karakuls is sufficient enough.”

She cocked her head to the side. “See, I can’t tell if you’re having me on or you’re serious. I’m inclined to believe it’s a bit of both.”

“Mayhap a bit of both…but more of the latter. It’s even worse when they’re in rut.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Now, do you think we could tie a few of these to Foleux? I’d rather shear them back at camp, if it’s all the same to you. Your people can have the mutton.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Truly?”

“I have no need of it. Consider it a thanks to your knights for letting me borrow their commander for the day.” She smiled. “And to Medguistl for the lunch.”

“Then, I humbly accept your offer.” He said and bent down to lift the karakul from the ground.

Foleux seemed a bit startled to have a dead karakul tied to his back but he did not protest beyond an offended warble after he sniffed his new burden. Haurchefant patted his neck while the Warrior examined the karakul’s pelt.

“Are you looking for something?” he queried.

“Just checking the quality of the wool. The higher quality the wool, the more likely the thread it will make will turn out high quality as well. Higher the quality, higher the value. They didn’t specifically request high quality but I’d like to deliver as much as I can.”

“How many do you think you’ll need to kill?”

She checked her list before answering. “Assuming I can get usable wool from all of them? …Um…perhaps twenty?”

“By Halone!” he exclaimed. “Do you intend to rid of us our karakul problem once and for all?”

“They breed like opo-opos, there will be twenty more to replace them in a fortnight.”

“True. But still, that seems a bit…excessive.”

She put her hands on her hips and gave him a look of pure exasperation. He folded one arm across his chest and pressed his knuckle to his mouth in thought. Twenty was excessive, certainly, but he could understand the need for such a supply of wool, particularly with winter looming for the rest of the realm. Yet perhaps there was a simpler solution available, one that did not require them returning to camp with twenty dead karakuls on their chocobos. While he was sure his knights would relish the sight of the little devils delivered justice, and the amount of meat, there was the risk of the wrong person witnessing their arrival and if word got back to his father that he’d left his post to gallivant about the highlands with an adventurer, even one such as herself, he would undoubtedly receive strong disapproval in return. They had avoided Whitebrim Front and the Observatory for this very reason.

A recent missive from Skyfire Locks jumped to mind, a warning for those traveling south to be wary of a certain obscenely large karakul that had been spotted in the area recently.

“What if…” Haurchefant said slowly, “I told you that there is a karakul easily three—nay, five! Five times bigger than any of its kin, with wool as soft as a chocobo hatchling and as dark as a moonless night?”

“I’d say you’re exaggerating but do go on.”

He grinned. “His name is Downy Dunstan. He’s a bit of a local legend, they say he survived the Calamity and that Bahamut himself granted him the power and strength to become the size he is now.” She smacked her forehead and he went on. “Others say he treated with Nidhogg himself and now bears a fraction of the great wyrm’s eye in his own.” He leaned forward. “They say, if you get close enough, you’ll see it gleaming within his eye…”

“Now I _know_ you’re having me on.”

Haurchefant laughed. The sad part? He wasn’t. And the believers in these myths came from both highborn stock and low. “And some…believe him to be a primal, called upon by the karakul themselves to torment us further.” She threw him a withering look that he relished. “There’s a bounty on his head, one I’m certain you could benefit from,” he added.

She raised her eyebrows. “A bounty,” she deadpanned. “Gods, you people are serious about these sheep.”

“Not a soul has been made it away from an attempted shearing without losing at least a finger,” he informed her gravely.

“…I cannot believe this.”

“Then perhaps you should see him for yourself. I received word that he’s in the area…”

“Okay, you know what? Aye. Aye, let’s go. I want to see this bloody great sheep you’re all so wild about. I don’t even care about the bounty!”

“And should it prove to be a primal…?” he teased.

Incensed, she stomped her foot. “Then I will inform the Scions and we shall all go mad wondering who in the hells thought summoning a _sheep god_ was a good idea!”

With that, she whirled around stormed away. Bobby Corwen followed her. Fighting back laughter, Haurchefant cleared his throat. “Um, my dear? …The sightings occurred this way.”

She spun on the ball of her foot and stomped past him in the right direction. Only then did he burst out laughing.

* * *

 

“I did not wager any gil on the size of this thing, did I?”

“I do not believe so.”

“Good,” she grumbled, glowering at the massive karakul prowling near the Griffin Crossing. Haurchefant laughed yet again. Her expression upon seeing the beast had been memorable and the one she wore now, something akin to a pout, was most amusing. “Right, let’s do this.”

“You wish for my aid?”

“Think you can keep it focused on you while I kill it?”

“I believe so, but pray, how long do you think it will take to fell the beast?”

“Not long…but if that wool is as fine as your legends claim, it’d be a shame to ruin any of it. I’m gonna try to go for the legs, get him so he can’t attack us.”

“Then I shall endeavor to avoid getting head butted in the process. Are you prepared?”

She unsheathed her daggers in a fluid motion, tossing them into the air, and catching them deftly. “To prove you’re all utterly mad, of course.”

“Very well. …But on the chance it does turn out to be a primal, please do me the honor of a quick death. I shouldn’t like spending the rest of my days worshiping a karakul.”

She glared at him.

Haurchefant removed his shield from his back but kept his blade sheathed as he approached Downy Dunstan. Though as passive as its smaller kin, he was certain that the overgrown beast’s eyes tracked his every movement. He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the Warrior prowling closer in that semi-hidden state she’d achieved before. He nodded to her once and then began to inch around Downy Dunstan. As anticipated, the karakul slowly turned to keep him in sight. When he was certain its back was to her, Haurchefant drew his sword and struck the beast across the muzzle.

Now, his sword wasn’t anything special. It wasn’t enchanted or fortified like those of the highest members of the Holy See, but it was of the finest quality available to a Lord’s son and certainly more robust than that of a knight half his status. Yet it barely so much as scratched the surface of Dunstan’s vulnerable muzzle. It did, however, awaken the beast.

Downy Dunstan all but screeched at the offense and proceeded to thrust its head at its attacker and Haurchefant only just managed to throw himself out of the way. He recovered quickly and jabbed the karakul in the side. At that moment, the Warrior materialized behind Dunstan and stabbed both daggers into its hind legs simultaneously. In and out without resistance and she rolled to the side, scarcely avoiding the furious kick aimed in her direction.

The Warrior of Light cursed in surprise. “What’s this thing’s skin made out of?!” she cried. “That should’ve cut its hamstrings!”

Haurchefant started to respond but Dunstan clearly seemed to believe him the bigger target despite the wound she had just inflicted and lunged at him once more. He leaped aside nimbly and brought his sword down on the karaku’s head, momentarily stunning him. The Warrior raced in to deliver three more quick strikes to its back legs, all of which barely cut through the surface. Dunstan kicked out again and she back flipped away, landing in a crouch.

“What was that you were saying about Bahamut and Nidhogg?” she called.

“Oh, now you believe me?” he shouted back with a smile. Dunstan bellowed furiously lunged for Haurchefant’s chest. No time to dodge and he only just managed to lift his shield to block the blow. Pain zinged through his arm, no worse than a blow from a dragon’s tail, and he was knocked back several feet from the force. He steadied himself quickly and glared at the beast over his shield.

The necessary strength for such a feat did not escape the Warrior’s notice and she shouted, “What kind of sheep is this?!”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her make a quick series of motions with her hands and though the sky was as clear as it had been all day, a bolt of lightning shot down from the heavens and struck the beast square on the back. Dunstan shrieked and the smell of singed hair wafted through the air. It was enough to draw the karakul’s attention and ire to her and Haurchefant lunged forward quickly.

“Ah, ah, ah! No you don’t!” He struck out again and this time he got lucky, slicing a deeply into the tender skin of Dunstan’s cheek. That did it.

Eyes flashing, teeth bared, and bellowing at the top of its lungs, Downy Dunstan resumed its assault on the knight with vigor. Focused on his task, Haurchefant was able to successfully dodge nearly every strike and bite from the incensed karakul while the Warrior worked quickly to disable its hind legs. Similarly, he swung his sword at its front legs every available moment, thrusting his shield at the creature’s face simultaneously to block its headbutts. Approximately one minute after beginning their attack, the Warrior delivered the final strike, a fearsome stab to the neck delivered whilst standing on the beast’s shoulders, Downy Dunstan fell with a furious bleat and the legend was no more.

The Warrior’s anger, however, was in no hurry to follow.

“What in the name of every single god was that!?” she shrieked.

“That,” Haurchefant said, “was Downy Dunstan.”

Grumbling under her breath, the Warrior dropped her daggers into the snow and knelt beside the dead karakul. She fisted her hand in its wool and let out a tiny sound of surprise.

“It’s so soft…”

“It would seem the legend _was_ true,” he remarked.

“Why does that make me angry?”

He shrugged. “I believe such an answer will require some introspection on your part, for which you will have plenty of time on the trip back to Camp.”

She sighed and gave her daggers a quick cleaning before sheathing them once more. “Not quite. I ought to kill a few more just to be safe. Then I need to gather some mistletoe. _Then_ we can go back to camp.”

If Foleux had disliked having a single, common karakul tied to his back, then he utterly loathed the addition of Downy Dunstan. He didn’t try to throw the beast off but he was sure to displeasure through repeated disgruntled warbles which only worsened with the addition of each new karakul. She’d kill one, deem its wool acceptable, then dart off to kill another while Haurchefant tied it to his increasingly irate bird.

By the time all eight karakul were on his back, Foleux was glaring at them both. Haurchefant made a mental note to request extra gyshal greens for him tonight.

“Oh, dear me, I forgot to ask! Would you care to stay for supper?” he asked her as they walked up the hill towards Camp Dragonhead. “I am certain a single extra mouth would be no trouble, there is usually enough prepared for a few guests to eat as well as our residents.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I shouldn’t. Some of these deliveries need to be made tonight.”

“I understand. Some other time then, perhaps. By the way, you have yet to tell me the purpose of the wool,” he reminded her and, to his surprise, she ducked her head. Almost…shyly.

“W-well, actually…it’s part of a trade I’m making with a skilled weaver in the Toll. There’s this um…there’s this robe I’d like made. I’ve only ever seen a few of them but I described it well enough that they think they can make it for me. But most of the materials it needs are pretty expensive or a bit beyond my capabilities to acquire myself, so I proposed an exchange of sorts. A bounty of wool was one of several things I was asked to procure in exchange for the cost of the materials I could not procure on my own.”

Haurchefant nodded. “Indeed, that seems fair. And the mistletoe?”

“Potions ingredient…and silly traditions.”

“Oh, such as?”

“Er…never mind.”

Haurchefant grinned. Of course, he knew full well which tradition she was referring to. Many modern Starlight traditions had originated in Ishgard, after all. But he decided to keep that to himself…for now. Mayhap he could surprise her with it later. Even if he didn’t get a kiss, the look on her face alone would surely be worth the effort.

The mistletoe was collected as the sun grazed the tops of the western mountains. She scurried up the tree like a nutkin and dropped sprig after sprig into the bags he held open below. She deemed three sacks to be an adequate amount and rejoined him on the ground. The walls of the camp were clearly visible and he knew if his knights on duty were being particularly attentive then they would likely have spotted them…or at least her chocobo. By Halone, what had she _fed_ that bird?

“Haurchefant….” She said slowly as she finished tying the final bag to Bobby Corwen’s saddle. “Would you… The day is still young. What time are you expected to return?”

“I gave no exact indication, only asked that a plate be set aside for each of us at supper, just in case,” he replied. “Why?”

She fiddled with the straps in silence for a few moments. “It’s just…well. We’re close to the camp but if you don’t have to go back yet…you could always come with me. Y’know, to Revenant’s Toll.”

He blinked, taken aback by the offer.

“Since you’ve never really left Coerthas, and it’s not that far, and I know there are a few Domans and other Toll residents who’d love a chance to shake your hand…”

“ _My_ hand?”

She looked up at him. “You know, for all the supplies you’ve been sending? They’ve done everyone a world of good.”

“Oh. Well….” He looked over his shoulder at the walls of Camp Dragonhead. Ever a reassuring sight, the walls had ever been a promise that home and safety were in reach. He had never before looked at them with such indecision. The sooner he returned the better and yet…and yet…. He looked at his companion. Such an offer! Had he not wanted to visit the Toll for some time now? Had not he longed since his youth for an excuse, any excuse, to see what lied beyond the boundaries of Coerthas?

“It occurs to me, my lady, that I did declare my official reason for leaving today to serve as escort for an esteemed guest of House Fortemps.” Haurchefant told her nonchalantly and a knowing gleam entered her eye. “What sort of escort would I be if I did not see her safely to her destination?”

She grinned.

“There is just one small problem.” He gestured to Foleux who, upon realizing he had attention once more, let out yet another indignant cry. The poor noble war mount, reduced to being a bird of burden, hauling dead sheep around.

“Awww, you poor thing,” she crooned, walking towards the black chocobo. “You don’t like carrying these nasty sheep around, do you?”

Foleux kweh-ed and…if Haurchefant didn’t know any better, he would’ve sworn he saw Bobby Corwen roll his eyes. _My sentiments exactly,_ he thought.

The Warrior stroked Foleux’s neck feathers with both hands. “You look like a smart chocobo so why don’t we make a deal? If you come with us south a bit and you carry these karakuls like the good chocobo you are…” As she spoke, she reached her hand into one of the pouches on her belt and pulled out a single lumpy green leaf. The sight of it made Bobby Corwen shift closer. She held the leaf up for Foleux to see and smell, just out of reach unless he pushed against her, which he wouldn’t dare. She began waving it back and forth slowly in front of his face and Foleux’s head moved with it.

“Yeah, smell that? This is a fresh gyshal green, straight from Bentbranch Meadows, grown in some of the finest soils in all the realm, blessed by the Elementals…you probably don’t understand that last bit but believe you me, this is as good as it gets.” She offered the green to him and Foleux gobbled it up, immediately sniffing her fingers for more. “Yeeaaaah, good right?”

He warbled. Haurchefant shook his head slowly.

“There’s _plenty_ more where that came from…and all you need to do to have some is come south with us and be a good chocobo. Sound good?”

Foleux chirped loudly, jumping and flapping his wings like an untrained chick.

Smirking, she turned to Haurchefant, folded her arms, and cocked her hip, absolutely radiating smugness. He shook his head again.

Even with his size, Foleux would be unable to carry both him and Downy Dunstan, never mind the other seven sheep as well, and Bobby Corwen was far too small to carry two, so the knight had no choice but to walk, at least until they reached the Observatory. From there, they would rent a chocobo porter to carry them the rest of the way.

The Warrior finally unpacked the coat she had mentioned that morning—a long brown thing with fur trim around the hems and sleeves—and walked beside him through the snow. He considered protesting, a lady should not be forced to trudge through the snows such a distance, but she would probably tell him to take his protests and _shove ‘em._ She was a seasoned fighter, a skilled adventurer, and she would not appreciate attempts to…well, coddle her based on her gender and status.

He knew several knights of the male persuasion that had received a swift but severe trouncing for making that very mistake.

“Mayhap you could tell me of this fighting style you wielded now?” Haurchefant asked. “The one of Limsa Lominsa and Doma?”

“Oh, alright. It’s a bit complicated though if you don’t know much about either place so if I lose you anywhere, just say, right?”

He nodded and listened raptly as she told him of the rogues in the shadows of Limsa Lominsa that worked to keep the peace in a quiet yet condoned tradition of vigilantism. Thieves who wielded naught but knives (‘stabbers’, they called them; an apt name, he supposed) and dressed themselves in loose, casual clothing, no armor to speak of, and kept the status quo in a city where everyone was either an active pirate, former pirate, shared blood with a pirate, or was an immigrant. This group, formal enough to have a guild of their own, hidden among the docks, led by a man named Jacke who spoke in such broken, jargoned sentences that the chaos was practically poetic. It was from them that she learned the technique of near-invisibility that she’d displayed earlier, which she explained worked better in the dark or places of low visibility, and that it was not infallible by any means. He wondered if it would be of any use against dragons but she grimaced and shook her head.

Haurchefant waited outside the Observatory while she fetched two chocobo porters for them. Bobby Corwen and Foleux greeted the newest additions to their procession with friendly chirps, which were returned with earnest from the yellow chocobos. Haurchefant mounted the larger of the two and then they were off once more.

As they rode, she told him of Oboro and Tsubame, visitors from the Far East, and skilled ‘shinobi’, whatever that was, who had come seeking to exact vengeance on one who had turned traitor and joined the Empire. Somehow, she’d ended up involved but had jumped on the chance to be trained when it was offered. The fighting styles they utilized were similar enough that she was able to easily adapt, although the shinobi wielded primarily daggers and short swords as opposed to knives. They also utilized things like ‘ninjutsu’ and ‘mudras’ to command certain elements, conjure weapons, even speed their movements.

It was all so amazing, bordering on fantastical, that he could scarcely believe it was real. But he knew not a single word she’d spoken had been untrue, for why would she lie to him? That was not her way. Not with him.

He had often been told to not concern himself with the lives of people beyond their borders and to minimize his interactions with unbelievers lest they corrupt him and lead him astray. But he’d never seen outsiders as nonbelievers, rather simply those who had not been raised to revere Halone as he had. That did not make them any less deserving of kindness. The Warrior’s faith was a mystery to him, if she even had a patron deity, and she had received the same treatment as any outsider from his countrymen on her arrival. And then she had turned around and done Ishgard service after service. The Stone Vigil, Svara and her brood, the traitorous Inquisitor, the heretics, Midgardsormr, Shiva… _twice_ …and now the notorious Dunstan.

How many of her deeds had benefited from her knowledge of the world beyond their war? Ever since he’d been old enough to have an opinion on such things, he had strongly believed that Ishgard should not be separate from the rest of the Eorzean alliance. Even more so after the Calamity. They were the eldest civilization left on the continent, so many of their traditions yet lived on beyond their borders. What was wrong in letting the outside _in_?

The Warrior of Light was a prime example of why opening their walls would benefit Ishgard as a whole. Between himself and Ser Aymeric, _surely_ they could make his people see.

* * *

The guards at the gate greeted the Warrior with a casualness that Haurchefant would ordinarily assume indicated the person did not know they were speaking to someone of great import. But that was impossible. More likely, they simply didn’t care. They let her walk past without more than a cursory glance at her chocobo’s burdens but when Haurchefant tried to follow, they held out their arms to stop him. He sputtered in surprise and the Warrior turned around, narrowing her eyes at the scene unfolding.

The guards sized him up carefully, no doubt noting his armor and the official insignia on Foleux’s barding, and the one of the left cracked a smile that wasn’t entirely friendly.

“Well, would you look at that?” he remarked. “She brought back one o’ them snow elezen.”

“Did you desert?” the other asked him without accusation.

Haurchefant was taken aback by the question and the nonchalance with which it was posed. “I—no, certainly not!”

The guard shrugged. “Makes no difference. Mind you keep your sword sheathed and hands to yourself inside the Toll. We don’t tolerate theft or fightin’.”

“And best you remember: we alls is equals out here.” The right guard narrowed his eyes. “Ain’t no lords and ladies and common folk, just those what make their livin’ on the road and those with nowhere else to go. We don’t care what you are back in your citadel, while you’re here, you are what you prove yourself to be. Got it?”

Haurchefant glanced at the Warrior who had been watching the scene with her customary silence. Upon noticing his gaze, she nodded encouragingly. “I assure you, you have naught to fear from me,” he told them. “I am simply here to assist the Warrior of Light in her travels.”

This seemed to satisfy both guards, at least enough to let him pass. The Warrior motioned for him to follow her through the gates. She certainly had not been kidding about the status quo here. Yet the intensity of their words made him wonder if his countrymen, perhaps even some under his command, had caused difficulties in the past. He had little doubt Toll residents would have had troubles with Ishgardians whilst in Coerthas but he had no idea if their poor manners would continue when in lands not their own. Well. The guard said that one could only be what they proved themselves to be here…so he would simply have to prove himself a kind man.

Haurchefant knew Revenant’s Toll was a settlement that had begun as a hamlet in the ruins of a long-destroyed village and that its residents were slowly but surely building upon it…but what greeted him was small yet undeniably thriving town. Most of the buildings were made of stone but he could see stalls and tents comprised of wood, cloth, and metal. There seemed to be one main road that sloped downhill towards the aetheryte circle.

He saw people of every species, every race, milling about the streets. Roegadyn who would tower above him, lalafell so small they could be mistaken for elezen babes. Miqo’te with long, sleek tails that flicked and twitched as they spoke. Elezen with skin so dark they may as well have been stained by shadows and even a few Au Ra. Many of them were dressed in flashy armor that seemed to be as much for show as for protection. Some wore survival gear like the Warrior at present, some wore flowing robes and carried tomes or staffs at their waists. He saw a few brightly colored animals he could not name, shimmering and bouncing around their arcanist’s legs. Words overlapped around him like a cacophonous song and he wasn’t even sure all of them were in his language. It was almost overwhelming.

Yet he noticed quite of the wore simple attire made from simple materials. These people stood apart from the rest, conducting business off the main road, manning the stalls, carrying parcels this way and that, or simply watching people pass by. Almost all of them had fair complexions and black hair. They must be the Doman refugees. He paused to stare. He could not help it. Seeing visitors from other parts of Eorzea was one thing…but another continent entirely? As his eyes passed across a small group of them, he noticed a man staring intently at him from the shadows of a tall tower and quickly looked away, only to realize that the Warrior had stopped and was watching him as well.

“Do not stare too long,” she cautioned him softly. “The people of Doma are proud and their shinobi always at the ready to defend their honor.”

“Shinobi?” he repeated. “There are shinobi among these Domans?” When she had told him of these warriors on their ride here, he had assumed that many would have perished in the invasion and the survivors remained behind to defend what remained of their homeland and people. He had not expected they would flee with the rest.

She nodded. “Aye. He’s one of them.”

Haurchefant looked at the tower again but the man who’d been staring at him was gone without a trace. Foleux warbled softly. “Where—”

“Don’t worry, he was simply judging you. He won’t hurt you unless you prove to be a threat. The shinobi, all the Domans, really, are staunch defenders of the Toll, even the Scions. Once they mark you as a man of House Fortemps, I reckon they’d protect you from a dragon if they had to.”

“Really?” he asked, surprised.

She gave him a small smile. “Domans benefit as much as the rest from the supplies you send and they do not forget who has aided them.”

“I see…” he murmured, glancing at the closest group of Domans. Yet another reason their continued support to the Toll would prove beneficial to Ishgard.

The Warrior led him off the main road into an area filled with simple market stalls covered by tarps. It was nothing like the Jeweled Crozier where the wares were mostly everyday items like food, clothing, basic materials, weapons, and toys, all of which were strictly Ishgardian in nature. The vendors of the Toll sold all of those, too, but in such a wide variety that Haurchefant could not help but stare. Exotic dishes and ingredients, vibrant dyes, elegant fabrics and shining jewels every color of the rainbow and beyond, housing items in a variety of styles, books and tomes both faded and new, clothes in styles he had never seen, bits and bobs and things he couldn’t name. Everywhere he looked, something new awaited him.

It wasn’t even half the size of the Crozier and yet twice as plentiful. Just what had his people been missing?

She stopped at a stall midway down the second aisle and the vendor, a fresh-faced highlander with a shock of pink hair, greeted her with a smile even brighter than her air. “Afternoon, love!” she greeted. “You got that sinew?”

The Warrior smiled and went to fetch the parcels from the saddlebag she’d stored them in. The vendor’s azure eyes settled on Haurchefant appraisingly. “Well hello there. Come to buy?”

Haurchefant shook his head. “No, madam, but thank you. I’m merely accompanying the lady.”

“Well ain’t you sweet,” she crooned and gave him another look up and down. “That’s some fine armor you’ve got on you. Them knights that come with shipments every now and then don’t shine near half as bright as you do.”

“It’s all a matter of care, madam.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “You can care for your armor all day long but poor quality ain’t never gonna match up to fine, carefully made gear and that, that right there, is some fine work. Bit more than an average knight could afford.”

Well, she’d certainly seen through him rather quickly. He had hoped to retain some level of anonymity while here, and he had told the Warrior as much ere they arrived. Him coming here had been a risky venture and it would not do for word to get around that he had. Thankfully, the Warrior presented the vendor the sinew then and pulled her attention to their transaction.

The highlander woman inspected the materials quickly, proving how much faith she placed in the Warrior to bring her fine stock, and nodded. “A fine mix of reasonable quality. Thank you kindly, love.”

The Warrior accepted her payment with smile and a nod and lead their small procession away from the booth. Haurchefant decided to remove the shield from his back and carefully hooked it to Foleux’s saddle underneath one of the dead karakuls for cover. He looked around for his companion once he was finished and spotted her at another stall, greeting a lalafellin vendor with a selection of potions and elixirs in bottles of every shape and size across his table. To him she gave the vampire weed and mistletoe and he inspected the contents with a sharper eye than the highlander had. The Warrior waited patiently for him to finish then accepted her payment, a sack of gil and a wooden half-crate full of bottles of a magenta potion.

He was amazed by her ability to weave among the bustling crowds and interact with each person she’d been employed by without saying more than a handful of words. It seemed his earlier assumptions had been correct: it was the presence of other people that stilled her voice. It was a shame yet he could not help but feel honored that she had deemed him worthy of speaking for. He could not be certain, but he did not think he had ever heard speak to Alphinaud even half as much as she had spoken with him today alone.

Content to leave her to her business, he allowed the sounds and smells of the Toll to wash over him. Even at its busiest, Ishgard retained a perpetual solemnity and quiet about it. At its worst, it felt like church service had not been dismissed. At best, well, one was inside the Forgotten Knight. This place had not the size, beauty, or grandeur to measure up to his city in any way but it was so _alive._ Emmanellain would love it here—

A hand touched his arm gently and Haurchefant turned to see the Warrior’s smiling face. “A friend of mine has agreed to sheer and butcher the karakuls.” He looked over her shoulder at the middle-aged miqo’te in an apron waiting near an empty stall. The man lifted a hand in greeting. “I told him that you’d take everything but the innards.”

“That is certainly kind—wait. You’re not having to pay, are you?” he fretted. She had gifted the meat to his people, it hardly seemed fair she should have to pay to do something that one of them could easily do themselves.

She shook her head. “We’re trading. Tomorrow I will bring him gigantoad legs in exchange.”

A rueful smile tugged at his lips. “The life of an adventurer is never dull.”

“We like it that way,” she assured him.

Her friend, J’nahk, lead them to one of the stone buildings near the market. He asked them to leave their chocobos outside and helped them carry the karakuls in, exclaiming rather loudly when he realized Downy Dunstan was but a single karakul. He demanded to know how they’d felled such a beast when the normal ones were bad enough and the Warrior groaned. The air inside J’nahk’s shop was ripe with something Haurchefant could not place, didn’t quite like, but was able to ignore. He bade them leave the karakuls with him and return in a bell or so.

Foleux was beyond relieved to be free of his foul-smelling, demonic burden, stretching his neck into the air and fluttering his wings. A few passerbys paused to look at him and Haurchefant gave him a reprimanding tug on the reins.

“Now, behave,” he scolded him. “You are representing all of Ishgard and I do not have to allow you the promised gyshal greens.” And suddenly the black chocobo was the stillest in the realm. Bobby Corwen let out a few chirps that sounded distinctly amused.

“I do owe him,” the Warrior murmured, almost to herself, and lead them back into the throng of stalls. But she did not stop to speak with any of the vendors, continuing back to the main road and down the hill. Haurchefant and the chocobos followed behind dutifully.

The deeper into the Toll he went, the more Haurchefant became aware of the eyes on him. He was a new face here, after all, and he could hardly fault them when he was wont to do the same whenever someone new arrived at Dragonhead. He bid the Warrior wait a moment when they reached the aetheryte and extended his hand toward the crystal. He knew some of his knights would have already done this even without permission beforehand, not that they really needed it in his opinion, but the Holy See liked to keep record of who had the ability to teleport beyond Coerthas.

He had done this only a few times in his life, all of which were in Coerthas, but he remembered the method. Simply reach out with one’s own aether and…

Warmth tingled in his fingers as light flowed between them and the aetheryte and he smiled. Regardless of whether or not he informed the Holy See what he’d done—which, he should, he really should, just as he really should _not_ have come—now he would forever have a link to the world outside, even if it was only by his aether.

When the process was complete, Haurchefant looked around for the Warrior. She stood several yalms away, conversing with a woman wearing the typical uniform of a chocobo porter handler. The woman was nodding to whatever the Warrior was saying and after a moment, she disappeared into the small stable where the porters were kept. The Warrior beckoned them over.

It was a simple exchange: a handful of gil and the promise that she could inspect Foleux’s wings for a small basket of the fresh greens he’d been promised. Haurchefant saw no reason to deny the request and allowed the woman her examination, keeping a reassuring hand on Foleux’s neck the whole time, though he suspected he need not have bothered. A woman so attuned with chocobos would never alarm Foleux. She seemed rather fascinated with her findings, mumbling something about sturdier and longer feathers.

The Warrior listened, bemused, so Haurchefant explained, “Foleux can fly.” Her eyes flipped wide in awe. “All of our black chocobos can by nature. They were bred that way.”

“That they were,” the woman agreed. “This is magnificent.”

The Warrior asked permission to leave their chocobos at the stable for a moment and the woman agreed. Then she took Haurchefant by the hand, murmured, “Come,” and lead him towards the nearby gate. They ascend a small staircase near the gate and arrive on a platform overlooking the lands to the southeast. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of the vast wasteland, all rock and crystal, and water. Beyond the rocks, rising high into the sky, was a shining blue tower that seemed to be made entirely of crystal. To his right, he could see the towering ruins of the fallen Garlean warship and the remains of Midgardsormr coiled around it.

“There are places like this across Eorzea where crystals grow rampant…but no place was so utterly overtaken like Mor Dhona. It goes on for malms and malms. Sometimes the aether here is so thick that you can see it in the air around you.”

Haurchefant shook his head slowly. “It’s…eerie and yet…beautiful.”

“And full of secrets,” she said with far too much certainty for his liking. “Beyond that ridge is an area of land full of allagan relics. Every day they uncover something new. Tomes, machines, stone, giant towers…people,” she added with a slight grimace. He decided not to ask. “Without the Calamity destroying the land, such things may never have been unearthed. The philosophical types probably love that.”

Haurchefant laughed ruefully. There was indeed something poetic about it.

“They say the things they’re finding could propel our technology ahead, maybe enough to surpass Garlemand one day.”

His eyes left the landscape and settled on her face, illuminated by the late afternoon sun reflecting off the crystal. His throat suddenly felt dry and he swallowed quickly. “Would such a thing not beneficial?”

She shook her head lightly. “Allag became insatiable in their quest for knowledge. They did unspeakable things. That there could be even worse still waiting to be uncovered sickens me.”

“Yet could there also not be great good waiting as well? Methods of healing, communication, spells, lost histories…?”

“Of course.”

“Then is it not worth the risk?”

For a moment, a haunted look passed across her face and he wondered what she had been through, what she had seen. She had ever been an unshakable force of nature, throwing herself headfirst into conflicts with men, beast, and primal with nary a concern for her wellbeing. What could possibly have been left behind by Allag to have disturbed her so?

He decided he did not want to know and licked his lips. “Ishgard has not had a significant advancement in one thousand years that did not in some way pertain to war,” he told her. “We stagnated long ago and have not the resources to progress, nor will we ever so long as the dragons threaten us. If Allagan secrets are finally being unearthed, they could be what we need to advance once more. To move past our limitations, perhaps even open ourselves to the world once more. My people have done unspeakable things, too, and yet…”

The Warrior smiled sadly. “You know it’s all thousands and thousands of years old, right?” she added softly. “Older than your war with the dragons by millennia. Do you truly think the tools for your nation’s liberation could be buried in the past?”

Haurchefant inhaled through his nose as he contemplated her words. There was something in her tone at the end that spoke of deeper knowledge. Truthfully, he had long harbored the belief that there was some truth to the dragons’ side of the story, though he had never been able to speak such thoughts aloud for fear of receiving accusations of heresy. He was not a heretic, nor would he ever be, but he knew full well that there were always two sides to a story and that the truth usually lied somewhere therein. Unless, of course, one side was a lie and Ishgard firmly believed that the dravanians’ was. Though there was a possibility that it was _theirs_ that…

He never allowed himself to think beyond that point for surely that was what started one down the path of heresy.

“I think there are a great many things that the past has to offer us and that we should seek them out if given the opportunity,” he finally answered. “So long as we partake in their successes and learn from their mistakes, then the people of old…their lives will never have been for naught. Tis folly for we are ever forgetful but we must try.”

They stood in silence, listening to Revenant’s Toll behind them and staring at Mor Dhona before them. She had not yet let go of his hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “for allowing me to accompany you. For bringing me here, showing me this, it…”

He did not look at her but he knew she was smiling when she replied, “Thank you for coming with me.”

“I will forever be in your debt.”

She shook her head but said no more on the subject.

* * *

 

The end of his day as an adventurer came far sooner than Haurchefant would have liked.

The bells tolled out the hour and they returned to J’nahk who helped him load the parcels of fresh mutton into Foleux’s saddlebags and the bags of wool into Bobby Corwen’s. Out of curiosity, Haurchefant enquired as to which parcels held the mutton from the largest karakul, but J’nahk only shrugged. And thus, Downy Dunstan, plague of the highlands, he who had survived the Calamity and consorted with elder dragons, in the end was utterly indistinguishable from its lesser counterparts. Funny how life worked.

Sunset was fast approaching and there was no chance he would make it back to Dragonhead before the temperatures dipped dangerously. Teleporting was his only option, though he planned to explain his unusual manner of arrival with the excuse that he had seen the Warrior to the edge of Coerthas. With luck, no one in Ishgard would ever be any the wiser to the brief departure of one of its commanders.

…Or he could right now be missing the unholy vengeance of Downy Dunstan’s brethren upon his camp and would return to naught but flames, crumbled stone, and knights with crushed armor covered in fleece whilst the perpetrators marched for Dravania to join the dragons in their crusade against the Holy See.

Probably not but you never knew with karakuls.

Still, it was best he did not linger.

Yet he was reluctant to leave. Duty compelled him to return posthaste but desire bid him linger just a while longer. For when would he ever have such an opportunity again? He had an obligation to his command, one that could not be set aside simply because he had been invited to go gallivanting across the realm. The dragons would not pause in their crusade on his account. He couldn’t gamble the safety of his people in such a way. Not only was it unfair and downright irresponsible, he had spent his life doing all he could to prove himself worthy of the honor of House Fortemps. Though he would never share its name, he would forever be of its bloodline and he would never disgrace it.

A knight lived to serve and serve he would. He glanced at the Warrior of Light. At least he could count on one such as her to understand.

“Will you be alright?” she asked after J’nahk departed. “It’s at least a full bell’s ride to the border…”

“I do believe I shall be making the journey via the aether,” Haurchefant replied. “I see no point in braving the snows and the cold when this way is much simpler.”

She nodded and patted Foleux’s neck in farewell before giving Haurchefant a contrite smile. “I kept you far too long.”

He shook his head. “Not at all, my dear. I have enjoyed our time together immensely and though such excursions must be few and far between, you are ever welcome in Camp Dragonhead. I hope your next visit is sooner rather than later, for was I not promised a certain dish from the Bismarck?”

“If I recall, you only asked. I never promised.”

“Oh, but surely you are not so _cruel_ as to taunt me with tales of a dish so _fine_ its makers cannot keep up with the demands for it…and then leave me wanting?” He was laying it on thick and he knew it but these were desperate times.

“Must you always be so overdramatic?”

“My dear, I am afraid I have no idea what you mean. Such accusations!” She pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and he decided to dial it back. “Though, if you recall, I did also offer to compensate you for bringing it to me.”

She glanced at him and smiled. “I also recall you asking me to instruct your knights in the arts of karakul slaying.”

“Indeed…and should you do both on the same day then I could enjoy both a meal and watching a lesson from you. I daresay that may prove nearly as enjoyable as today.”

“You’re insufferable,” she told him matter-of-factly. “I cannot promise when I’ll be able to return to Coerthas but I will soon…with the apple dish.”

“Splendid!” he cried, raising his arms in delight. “With that, I do believe my work here is done. By your leave, I shall take mine now, my dear.”

The Warrior of Light grinned broadly and lightly punched his arm. “Go on, get out of here.”

He nodded once. “Time to see if I remember how to do this. Come, Foleux.” The chocobo chirped softly as he took hold of his reins securely. He gave the Warrior one last smile. “Fare you well, my dear.”

“And you,” she replied.

Haurchefant looked around at Revenant’s Toll. It was such a small place and yet it held such an important purpose. He had helped build this place, albeit indirectly, and seeing the good that his people had done for the outside world gave him a sense of pride. His eyes took in the buildings, the market, the people, and nodded once. Closing his eyes, he reached inside himself to the place where his aether flowed and connected him to the world…and thought of Camp Dragonhead, of the aetheryte shining tall, the walls, the cobblestone, the people…

A rush of tingling warmth slept over him and he opened his eyes for one final look at her smiling face and then the world melted away.

**Author's Note:**

> my friends are enablers so i'll probably be posting more stories in this same lil 'verse sooner or later
> 
> pls comment it validates me


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